The harmony is recalcitrant, it is sense out of chaos, order inextricable fom disorder. The trunk rises and in parts falls back to the ground to rise again with surreal grace, as if the fall had a posessive purpose. The twitter is varied and the abodes are in plenty somewhere among the cellars of a beautiful maze. They fly amongst the song of the green matte conducted by the breeze and the falling white fragrance that lands on the lawn.
It soars above the rest of the green and spreads beyond the reach all creepers, showering the green beneath it where buttercups play, with a magnificent and peaceful majesty.